
THE VASE 

& Other Bric-a-Brac 
By James Jeffrey Roche 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap...l..... Copyright No. 

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UNJTED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
in 2010 witii funding from 
The Library of Congress 



littp://www.arcliive.org/details/vaseotlierbricbOOrocli 



BOOKS BY 

JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE 

Her Majesty the King 
The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Ballads of Blue Water 
The Story of the Filibusters 
Life of John Boyle O'Reilly 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



First Impression, October, l8g8 
Second Impression, January, l8gg 
Third Impression, June, ^^99 

Fourth Impression, September, 1899 
Fifth Impression, in Preparation 

When a book goes along in this steady fashion, 
with no sudden fits and starts occasioned by exten- 
sive advertising, it is apt to be a pretty good book, 
a book that one can sit dovv'n to read with a feeling 
of security. This is the record of Mr. James Jeffrey 
Roche's remarkably clever satire of to-day, entitled 

Her Majesty the King 

One man recently bought 25 copies to distribute to 
his friends. The press has quite unanimously agreed 
with the Boston Journal in hailing it as the ivittiest 
book of the year. It has 1 6 full-page pictures as 
clever as the text. 

Uniform with The V-A-S-E and Other Bric-a-Brac 

I zmo. Cloth, ornamental, ^1.25 

Of all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt ef price by the publishers 

Richard G. Badger & Co. 

BOSTON 



The V-A-S-E 

Other Bric-a-Brac 



JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE 

Author of " Her Majesty the King,^^ etc. 




RICHARD G. BADGER ^ CO. 

BOSTON 

1900 

L 



■1 wo SJOPIES RECElVe.O, 

Copyright 1899 by 
James Jeffrey Roche 



^// Rights Reserved 

.V3, 



49517 



SeCOWD GOP/, 



DEDICATION. 

And this ivas the toast of the Klondike men^ 

The honest miners^ toast : 
" Oh^ luck will come and luck will go^ 
But a true love stands by you whether or no : — 
So here's to the girl^ the same old girl^ 

The girl we love the most .' " 



CONTENTS 

The V-A-S-E // 

A Boston Lullaby /j 

T'he Editor s Welcome /j" 

Frozen Out i8 

A Slave of Duty 2J 

A Maine Melody 25 

Contentment 26 

To be Free 2^ 

A Concord Love-song jo 

'The Net of Law jj 

Constancy j^ 

A Title Clear -6 

" To fim Byrne " ^o 

Carvajal the Thorough ^2 

The Newest fournalist /j.^ 

Mirth and Gravity ^6 

The Avenging Brotherhood ^y 

A Hymn of Peace ji 

It is not always Wintry fune ■ ^2 

The Absent Ghost jj 

On Rereading Telemaque ^^ 

On a Bust of Cupid ^6 

The Terrible Surplus 57 

The White Wolfs Cry ^9 

To Henry A. McGlenen^ Esq.^ on his 66th 

Birthday 61 

Valentine 62 

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Contents 

PAPYRUS POEMS p 

Page 

When the World was Young ...... 6^ 

Good-bye to the Admiral 68 

Wait till you come to Forty Year 7/ 

A Poem of Passion yj 

INTERNATIONAL POEMS 

The Gathering of the Scotch-Irish Clans . . 77 

Lament of the Scotch-Irish Exile yg 

YACHTING YARNS 

Ode to Lieut. Menn 8 J 

The Lament o" the Thistle 8^ 

To his Lordship Wyndham Thomas Wyndham 

^uin. Earl of Dunraven 88 

The Great Drifting Match 8p 

Is this the HendF pz 



To Uncle Paul Kruger pj 

To Ladysmith g^ 

Babylon ^6 



The V-A-S-E 
Other Bric-a-Brac 



riDe V-A-S-E Gf Other Bric-a-Brac 



THE V-A-S-E. 

From the madding crowd they stand apart, 
The maidens four and the Work of Art ; 

And none might tell from sight alone 
In which had Culture ripest grown, — 

The Gotham Million fair to see, 
The Philadelphia Pedigree, 

The Boston Mind of azure hue. 

Or the soulful Soul from Kalamazoo, — 

For all loved Art in a seemly way. 
With an earnest soul and a capital A. 

Long they worshipped ; but no one broke 
The sacred stillness, until up spoke 

The Western one from the nameless place, 
Who blushing said : " What a lovely vace ! " 

Over three faces a sad smile flew. 
And they edged away from Kalamazoo. 

But Gotham's haughty soul was stirred 
To crush the stranger with one small word. 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



Deftly hiding reproof in praise, 

She cries : " 'Tis, indeed, a lovely vaze ! " 

But brief her unworthy triumph when 
The lofty one from the home of Penn, 

With the consciousness of two grandpapas. 
Exclaims : " It is quite a lovely vahs ! " 

And glances round with an anxious thrill, 
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. 

But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee 
And gently murmurs : " Oh, pardon me ! 

" I did not catch your remark, because 

I was so entranced with that charming vaws ! 

Dies erit pragelida 
Sinistra quum Bostonia. 



rhc F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



A BOSTON LULLABY. 

Baby's brain is tired of thinking 

On the Wherefore and the Whence. 

Baby's precious eyes are blinking 
With incipient somnolence. 

Little hands are weary turning 

Heavy leaves of lexicon ; 
Little nose is fretted learning 

How to keep its glasses on. 

Baby knows the laws of nature 

Are beneficent and wise ; 
His medulla oblongata 

Bids my darling close his eyes. 



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The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

And his pneumogastrlcs tell him 

Quietude is always best 
When his little cerebellum 

Needs recuperative rest. 

Baby must have relaxation, 

Let the world go wrong or right — 

Sleep, my darling, leave Creation 
To its chances for the night. 



14 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

THE EDITOR'S WELCOME. 

When his maddened foreman utters imprecations 

on his head 
For the " copy " that's unwritten and the proofs 

that are unread ; 
When his letters lie unopened by the dozen and 

the score 
And the manuscripts flow over from the table to 

the floor ; 

When he fain would weigh and measure the po- 
tential " fake " or " scoop," 

That may make or mar his paper — damn it flat, 
or make it whoop ; 

When he's "busy" — which is always — four- 
and-twenty hours a day — 

Then the Bore, whose name is Legion, comes and 
never goes away. 



H 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Comes and roots in the exchanges, in the books 

and magazines, 
Reads a manuscript half written and inquires what 

it means ; 
Has a joke that won't hold over, and " you really 

ought to know " — 
It was told to Psalmanazar 40,000 years ago. 

And he reads this humble legend and believes I 

speak him true 
When I say : " You know, old fellow, this does 

not apply to you." 
Oh, the waste of precious lying, unprofessional 

and vain ! 
Naught of ease or comfort buying, naught of 

gratitude or gain ! 



16 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Do you seek the busy lawyer, in the chambers or 

the court ? 
Do you bid the earnest doctor turn from business 

unto sport ? 
Do you climb the pulpit stairway, droning in the 

preacher's ear ? 
Do you babble at the captain ? chatter with the 

engineer ? 

No, you bet your life you doesn't ; but you read 
this fable plain, 

And '' de te narratur " never penetrates your pre- 
cious brain. 



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rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
FROZEN OUT. 

A TALE OF THE NICARAGUA CANAL A.D. 1 9 . 

Come hither, little Britisher, and listen while I tell 
About the great climatic change that long ago 

befell. 
Take off your little Arctic shoes, hang up your 

reindeer hood, 
And you shall have some blubber pie if you be 

nice and good. 

'Twas in the old and wicked days your Uncle 

Sam began 
To dig his great canal beside the river San Juan ; 
And when they saw him work so hard and get 

along so slow. 
The foreign nations laughed ha ! ha ! and eke 

they laughed ho ! ho ! 



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I'he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

But when the work was done at last, and he 

began to build 
His mighty forts on either side, with anger they 

were filled. 
They met in hasty conference one morning at 

Berlin, 
The very day that he had fixed to let the water in. 

And as the water and the talk did simultaneous 

flow, 
The Carribean Sea ran dry and the Gulf of Mexico. 
The great Gulf Stream which used to wash and 

warm all Europe free 
Was siphoned through the new canal into the 

Southern Sea. 



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rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Next day a little Cablegram covered with ice and 

snow 
Came staggering over to Sandy Hook, and this its 

talc of woe : 
A wave of more than Arctic cold had suddenly 

ariz, 
In spite of grammar or precedent, and the whole 

of Europe friz. 

And every port was blocked with ice, and every 

town with snow ; 
You could travel on skates from Liverpool to the 

Bay of Biscay O. 
The savans all were at loggerheads the reason to 

unfold ; 
For some maintained it was lack of heat, others 

excess of cold. 



T^he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

" Whatever the cause," said the Cablegram, kick- 
ing its frozen heels, 

" Europe for sympathy and help to its Uncle Sam 
appeals." 

" The reason is plain," said Uncle Sam, and he 
winked his aged eye ; 

" You've neglected to pay your water rates, and 
I've cut ofF the supply." 

He laughed ha ! ha ! and he laughed ho ! ho ! did 
wily Uncle Sam, 

As he sent in his little bill of costs by the little 
Cablegram. 

The air of Europe was black that day with blas- 
phemy and sin. 

But the nations did as we all must do when the 
plumber's bill comes in. 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

5 1 00,000,000,000 cash! and, oh! they roundly 

swore 
When they found the Gulf Stream didn't flow as 

it useter did before. 
It was a pious dodge, my child, to put down war 

and slaughter. 
For it made the nations keep the peace to keep 

'em out of hot water. 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



A SLAVE OF DUTY. 

I MAY not love my enemies 

With all the fervor that I ought to ; 
I may not bless them on my knees 

For cursing me, as I was taught to. 

But though the wrong that's done to me 
I can forgive with Christian meekness, 

A crime against Society 

To palliate were worse than weakness. 

So when a statesman insincere 

(Who used me ill) seeks my assistance, 
I find the path of Duty clear 

And level for a wondrous distance. 



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The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Or if a critic choose to say 

My prose is dull, my verses stupid, 

And I can send a shaft his way, 
I will not use the bow of Cupid. 

Revenge for private deed or word 
Of injury, I scorn to treasure ; 

But where my sense of Right is stirred 
Then duty is indeed a pleasure ! 



The V-A-S-E & Other Brlc-a-Brac 



A MAINE MELODY. 

By Chesuncook's savage shore 
(Never named in verse before) ; 
By the wilds that lie between us, — 
Pemadumcook, Ripogenus, — 
By thine only rival, Venus, — 

Yea, by Maine's own patron saint, 

By Gum ! I swear, this weather ain't 

As cool, or warm, or generally 

As suitable as it would be 

If Time and tide were ruled by Me ! 



as 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bn'c-a-Brac 



CONTENTMENT. 

I'd rather be handsome than homely ! 

I'd rather be youthful than old ! 
If I can't have a bushel of silver, 

I'll do with a barrel of gold. 



a6 



T^he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



TO BE FREE. 

Oh, to be free from the mockery of artificial life ! 

From weaving words into webs of air — from end- 
less, useless strife ; 

From the effort vain to prove again truths old and 
cold as earth ; 

Exhausting the brains of thinking men for fools 
of little worth ! 

For " Two times two is four," you say ; and there 

is an argument : 
Four " is " or " are " ? they ask straightway. 
And so is our short life spent. 
For body is naught and clothes are all with folk 

who think they think, 
Whose minds are cloaked in a sable pall deep dyed 

in cursed ink. 



27 



The F-A-S-E' & Other Bric-d-Brac 

The Man is he who despises words and makes us 

a thing of use — 
A ship, a house, a law that works, or a timely 

gallows noose ; 
And next to him is the man who sings a song to 

wrench the heart. 
Or paints a picture to stir the soul, a something 

more than Art. 

But gossip-mongers and decadents who write in 
journalese. 

To whom all tragedies are " events " — God save 
us from all of these ! 

And save us, too, from the motley crew who fol- 
low Fashion's fads 

And read whatever they're told to read by literary 
cads ! 



28 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

Give me a cot with her I love, where the river 

weds the sea, 
The daily need of bread above, and a book, or two, 

or three ; 
With never a care for what's to come, nor grief 

for what is past ; 
For Mother Earth, who gave me birth, will give 

me a bed at last ! 



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The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



A CONCORD LOVE-SONG. 

Shall we meet again, love, 
In the distant When, love, 
When the Nov/ is Then, love, 

And the Present Past ? 
Shall the mystic Yonder, 
On which I ponder, 
I sadly wonder. 

With thee be cast ? 

Ah, the joyless fleeting 
Of our primal meeting. 
And the fateful greeting 

Of the How and Why ! 
Ah, the Thingness flying 
From the Hereness, sighing 
For a love undying 

That fain would die ! 



30 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



Ah, the Ifness sadd'ning, 
The Whlchness madd'nino-. 
And the But ungladd'ning, 

That lie behind ! 
When the signless token 
Of love is broken 
In the speech unspoken 

Of mind to mind ! 

But the mind perceiveth 
When the spirit grieveth, 
And the heart relieveth 

Itself of woe ; 
And the doubt-mists lifted 
From the eyes love-gifted 
Are rent and rifted 

In the warmer glow. 



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T:he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

In the inner Me, love, 
As I turn to thee, love, 
I seem to see, love, 

No Ego there. 
But the Meness dead, love, 
The Theeness fled, love. 
And born instead, love. 

An Usness rare ! 



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T^he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



THE NET OF LAW. 

The net of law is spread so wide, 
No sinner from its sweep may hide. 

Its meshes are so fine and strong 
They take in every child of wrong. 

O wondrous web of mystery ! 
Big fish alone escape from thee ! 



33 



The V-A-S-E & Other Brk-a-Brac 



CONSTANCY. 

My first love was pretty Jeanette, 
She was saucy, sixteen and a flirt ; 

I was ten ; but I wince even yet, 

When I think how my feelings were hurt. 

Fifteen found me awkward and shy, 

Instinctively, fearing the fair. 
And a glance from dear Emily's eye 

Made me blush to the roots of my hair. 

At twenty I suffered again ; 

Was it Mollie ? or Maud ? I forget ; 
I but know I was prisoner then 

To a finished and cruel coquette. 

There were others — some six, seven, eight — 
In the lustrums that followed too fast ; 

Some smiled, and more frowned ; pretty Kate 
Was the loveliest, i.e.^ the last. 



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The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

And now I am old and blase, 

I have long since forgotten to blush ; 

My hair, what there is of it's gray, 

And I comb it quite well with a brush. 

I look back on the loves of my youth 

And my mild mediaeval affairs. 
And I think of one angel of truth 

Whom I've long entertained unawares. 

Who has loved me through good and through ill, 
And, although I am laid on the shelf. 

Who believes me a paragon still — 
Hail, truest of lovers, myself! 



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T:he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



A TITLE CLEAR. 

Maybe it was the Sunday fare ; 

Maybe the Sunday sermon ; 
Perhaps 'twas but a plain nightmare — 

I never can determine. 

I dreamed I was an errant shade, 
With other shadows hieing 

Along a road whose downward grade 
Was simply terrifying. 

Before them all, with haughty head. 
One held the chief position. 

Whose lofty mien and stately tread 
Proclaimed his high condition. 

While in the eyes of all the rest 

Sat trouble and dejection. 
His gold-rimmed orbs alone expressed 

Approving introspection. 



36 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

We reached a river and embarked 

Upon a galley gloomy ; 
The seat the stranger took, I marked, 

Was elegant and roomy. 

When Charon came to punch his fare, 

The awe-inspiring spectre 
Transfixed him with a stony stare, 

And seemed to say, " Director." 

We reached at length the heavenly gate — 
The press had free admissions — 

The common herd was forced to wait 
And loaded with conditions. 



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T:he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

The stranger handed in his card, 
While round the door we hovered, 

And to the high celestial guard 
His shapely head uncovered. 

I saw St. Peter smile and bow, 

Urbane and deferential ; 
The stranger's greeting was somehow 

A shade more consequential. 

" Angel ! " the saintly tyler cried, 
A page straightway appearing, 

(I don't remember that I tried 
To wholly keep from hearing.) 



38 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

I caught the words "Orchestra chair — 
Be sure you get the right one — 

See the harp-tuner; and take care 
The halo is a bright one. 

" Look lively, too," St. Peter said, 

"The gentleman is waiting." 
" Please register" — he bent his head, 

The great book indicating. 

The stranger wrote, I read the scrawl 
The sacred page engrossed on ; 

The name was naught, the place was all, — 
" J. Winthrop Wiggins, Boston." 



39 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
"TO JIM BYRNE." 

[My Old Friend, James Byrne, Esq.] 

When first I met you, short and stout, 
You wore a velvet roundabout, 
Yaller and red, and filled it out, 

Jim Byrne. 

You wore, likewise, a blissful smile ; 
The heart beneath it knew no guile ; 
You haven't yet forgot the style, 

Jim Byrne. 

One day to test our school-boy grit 
They set us fighting and we fit. 
And when 'twas over, I was " It," 

Jim Byrne. 



40 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

I loved you then, I love you now, 
Though forty years have tried to plow, 
In vain, some furrows on your brow, 

Jim Byrne. 

But now you're getting old, J. B., 
The leaves are turning on the tree ; 
May Autumn treat you tenderly, 

Jim Byrne. 

And when your latest day is done. 
And all your deeds weighed one by one, 
I'm sure the sentence will not run : 

"Jim, Burn! " 



41 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 



CARVAJAL THE THOROUGH. 

I LOVE a man who does his work, 
Whate'er it be, as best he can ; 

Old Carvajal, a perfect Turk 
In wickedness, was such a man. 

His life was one protracted fight : 
He sacked old Rome at sixty-four; 

At eight-three his appetite 

Was unimpaired for strife and gore. 

He followed where Pizarro led, 

Nor questioned of the right or wrong, 

But '' took life easy," as he said. 
And fortune as it came along. ■ 



4a 



T:he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

At last it led him down the road 
His foes had often marched before ; 

A pious padre by him strode 

To shrive the doomed conquistador. 

" Dost thou forgive thine enemies ? 

I fear their roll is long, my son." 
Old Carvajal, in mild surprise, 

Made answer, " Father, I have none." 

'' No enemies ! Can such a grace 

To any erring mortal fall ? " 
A smile lit up the grim old face : 

" None, padre, none ; I slew them all." 



43 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



THE NEWEST JOURNALIST. 

The Newest Journalist v/ent to bed, 
To sleep and dream, and dreamed he was dead. 
The thing that passed for his soul went straight 
And gave his name at the heavenly gate ; 
The porter told him he " need not wait." 
The Newest Journalist took his cue — 
That was no place for " an interview." 
Heaven, he reckoned, was slow and dull, 
Where all was decent and beautiful, 
With never a fake, or scoop, or pull. 
The Newest Journalist went below 
As deep as the elevators go. 



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The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

He boldly strode to the door and rang ; 

A brazen wicket oped with a clang. 

Old Satan looked at the stranger's card ; 

His face grew dark and his voice grew hard ; 

He ordered the gates to be doubly barred. 

" Go back," he said, " to your proper sphere ; 

You serve me better on earth than here. 

Moreover — perhaps we cut it fine — 

But since the days of those Gadarene swine, 

We devils have had to draw the line." 



45 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



MIRTH AND GRAVITY. 

Once Mirth and Gravity together 
Went walking in the April weather. 

Sun shone, and Gravity in sorrow 
Foresaw that it would rain to-morrow. 

It rained, and, " Every pretty flower," 
Said Mirth, " is fairer for a shower." 

Half through their pilgrimage they parted, 
Mirth trudging in the rain light-hearted, 

While Gravity, 'mid sunlight shining. 
Went on his weary way repining. 

Moral : No weather yet invented 
Will make a pessimist contented. 



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The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



THE AVENGING BROTHERHOOD. 

Me and Johnny and Shorty Clay 
Made up our minds we'd run away, 

To go killing Injuns out on the plains, 
And highway-robbering houses and trains, 

And it was especially understood 

We must be " The Avenging Brotherhood ; " 

For that was the name of the pirate band 
In the " Demon Corsair of Newfoundland." 

They made me captain, for I had a gun. 
But you know it wasn't a truly one. 

And Shorty had only a wooden dirk. 
And Johnny a pistol that wouldn't work. 

Saturday noon we ran away. 

Me and Johnny and Shorty Clay. 



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The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

We walked just ever and ever so far, 
Then we hooked a ride on a Bow'ry car. 

Says Shorty : " Supposing we rob this train ? " 
And I said, " Let's ; " but that Johnny McLane 

Had to tumble off in the dirt and bawl, 
When his nose wasn't bleeding much at all. 

I told him that I never heard before 
Of a robber what didn't d'lite in gore. 

But he got real mad and says : " I don't care, 
I ain't going to play no more — so there ! " 

And he just got up and retreated back. 
But Shorty and me kept on the track. 

We didn't say nothing, till by and by 
That Shorty sat down and began to cry — 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Now who ever heard of a pirate bold 
A-crying because his hands was cold — 

And bound he'd go home for a thing like tliat, 
But a cowardly contradixy cat ? 

No, I wasn't a bit afraid ; but how 
Could I go ahead when I saw a cow ? 

I tell you, if I'd had a sword and gun. 
And was up a tree, I'd 'a' made her run : 

Or if it was only a grizzly bear, 

Or an Injun, you'd see me lift his hair. 

And it wasn't the cow what made me cry. 
But I just was hungry, and that was why. 

I bet you'd 'a' cried if you'd been the same, 
And a pleeceman wanted to know your name. 



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'The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

And " who you belonged to ? " and laughed quite 

rude 
When you said " the Avenging Brotherhood " — 

And he " guessed your pap was laying for you. 
And was in the avenging business too." 

This Injun-slaying is all very nice, 

But you don't catch me a-trying it twice ; 

And I don't think much in a Pirate way, 
Of fellows like Johnny and Shorty Clay. 



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The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

A HYMN OF PEACE. 

Peace ! Peace ! Oh, let us have peace ; 
Let war and sorrow and discord cease, 
While Turkey is gobbling a piece of Greece ! 

Peace ! Peace ! let amity reign, 
While Cuba is being devoured by Spain 
And the Eagle is flapping his wings in vain. 

Peace ! Peace ! Let the farce be played, 
While the Boer is caught and neatly flayed 
And the Buccaneer plans another raid. 

Peace ! Peace ! Let us smile and wait 
While the enemy's guns command our gate ; 
We can always cry baby and ar-bi-trate ! 

Peace! Peace! And there's nothing odd 
If the Sultan's scourge and the Spaniard's rod 
And the Maxim Gun mean the peace of God ! 



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The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS WINTRY JUN: 

A NEW ZEALAND MADRIGAL. 

What though the icy winds of June 
Around my cottage sweep and roar, 

And bitter blizzards tell that soon 

July's deep drifts shall block my door ? 

Each April leaf that passed away, 

Each blade that died on mead and glen, 

Each flower slain by cruel May, 
December's sun shall see again. 

The mild nor'easter's balmy breath 
Shall kiss the vale and mountain-side ; 

The stream by August chilled in death 
Shall leap and laugh at Christmas-tide. 

Then be of joyful heart, my love; 

To hope its tender chords attune ; 
For as I have remarked above. 

It is not always wintry June. 



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THE ABSENT GHOST. 

There are spooks and wraiths and gobble-uns 

That fill the night with awe; 
There are shapes accurst whom no man durst 

Portray them, if he saw. 

In the gloomy deep of outer Space, 

Where Cold and Darkness reign, 
There are grewsome Things with obscure wings 

That haunt the shoreless main. 

We shudder beneath the coverlid 

When the Nightmare kneads our breast, 

And the Incubus sits down on us, 
And the weary are not at rest. 



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But the Spectre drear whom all men fear. 
And no eye would fain behold — 

At whose step, unheard, the soul is stirred. 
And the hottest blood runs cold ; 

Who blanches the cheek of fairest hue, 
And crumbles the bones like chalk; 

Who turns the merry green-room blue — 
Is the Ghost that does not walk. 



54 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
ON REREADING TELEMAQUE. 

"Calypso could not console herself." 

I PLACE thee back upon thy shelf. 

Fenelon, how scant thy knowledge, 
Who seemed as Solomon himself 

To me, a callow youth at college ' 

No need to say thou wert a priest ; 

No need to own that I am human ; 
Mine this advantage is — at least 

I've learned the alphabet of Woman. 

And yet but half the truth is told : 

1 do thee wrong, sagacious Mentor, — 
Calypso could not be consoled 

Until another man was sent her ! 



55 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 



ON A BUST OF CUPID. 

Arrows and bow ? mon cher^ ah no ! 

On a change tout cela. 
Silver and gold to-day, behold ! 

Are Cupid's weapons of war. 



56 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 



THE TERRIBLE SURPLUS. 

Abundance clutched, with ruthless hand, 
The nation's throat like an iron band j 
Silver rivers vi^ith golden sand 
Inundated the hapless land 

In the year of the Terrible Surplus. 

Granaries groaned with weight of grain, 
Flocks and herds covered hill and plain ; 
Oil wells flowed, and every vein 
Of mines and minerals swelled the gain 
In the year of the Terrible Surplus. 

Other peoples, more blest than we. 
Joyed in their happy bankruptcy ; 
Foreign paupers, whose trade was " free," 
Pitied our plethoric misery. 

In the year of the Terrible Surplus. 



57 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Wise physicians of solemn mien, 
Ouack and regular, fat and lean. 
Independent and straight machine, 
Gathered round with lancets keen 

To reduce the Terrible Surplus. 

But the patient listened and shook his head, 
And wouldn't be stripped and put to bed. 
And starved and leeched and cupped and bled ; 
" For," says he, " you fellows that ain't half fed 
Don't know the cure for a Surplus. 

" It's exercise that a man si ould try 
When his blood is slow ad his skin is dry; 
I'll mend my fences, and build 'em high — 
The neighbors' critters will find out why, 
If I ketch 'em round my Surplus." 



58 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

THE WHITE WOLF'S CRY. 

We are the Chosen People — look at the hue of 

our skins ! 
Others are black or yellow — that is because of 

their sins. 

We are the heirs of ages, masters of every race, 
Proving our right and title by the bullet's saving 
grace ; 

Slaying the naked red man ; making the black our 

slave ; 
Flaunting our Color in triumph over a world-wide 

grave ; 

Wearing the lamb's pure vestment to the unsus- 
pecting feast ; 

Flinging it off to show them the conquering Mark 
of the Beast ; 



59 



T^he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Unto the tropic Edens, where shame was a thing 

unthought, 
Bearing the fruit of knowledge with the serpent's 

venom fraught. 

Indian, Maori, and Zulu ; red man, and yellow, 

and black, 
White are their bones wherever they met with the 

White Wolf's pack. 

We are the Chosen People — whatever we do is 

right — 
Feared as men fear the leper, whose skin like our 

own is White ! 



60 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

TO HENRY A. McGLENEN, ESQ., ON 
HIS 66TH BIRTHDAY. 

Lord, how good Fortune loves her own ! 

Here's Harry — everybody's " Harry " — 
While all the world has older grown, 

For him the smiling seasons tarry ; 

Or if they seem to-day to heed 
The almanac, still Fortune fixes 

The dice to suit, and makes them read 
A lucky throw of double sixes ! 



6i 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



VALENTINE. 

Great Antony, I drink to thee, 

The Roman lover bold. 
Who knew the worth of love and earth 

And gave the dross for gold. 

Rich Antony, I envy thee. 
Who hadst a world to stake. 

And, win or lose, didst bravely choose 
To risk it for Her sake. 

Poor Antony, I pity thee, 

So small a w'orld was thine 
I'd scorn to lay the prize to-day 

Before my Valentine ! 



6a 



PAPYRUS POEMS 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG. 

(Written for the 20th anniversary of the Papyrus Club, 
Boston, Dec. 31, 1892.) 

When the world was young and we all were wise — 
Too wise to dream it could ever grow old — 

We looked on the present with laughing eyes, 
Nor cared what the future in store might hold. 

We knew, with the wisdom of splendid youth. 
That here and now are the first and last : 

To-morrow is doubt, but to-day is truth, 
And yesterday is the hoary past. 

The blood ran free when the world was young ; 

There was never a nerve in the hardy frame ; 
Man's words flew straight from a single tongue ; 

And love or hate was an honest game. 

When the world was young — but when was that ? 

Ah, that is the secret the old men know : 
Whatever their age, or wherever they're " at," 

It was always just twenty years ago. 



6S 



T:he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

If the wisdom of age would only speak, 
It would coin you a ninth Beatitude : 

" Blest are the young (though they be not meek), 
For they know not fear, and they are not 
shrewd." 

How we plowed and planted the fertile field. 
In the brave, bright springtime long ago ! 

What a rich, ripe harvest the wild oats yield, 

That are always sure, although sometimes slow ! 

Did we laugh at the beards of our elders then ? 

Well, God forgive us ! we did, perhaps. 
Laugh at ours now, if you will, young men — 

Your sons one day will call you " old chaps ! " 

Give us lowly place in the furthest rear. 

But spare the infirmities of age ; 
Let the bald heads sit where they all can hear. 

When a beautiful spectacle's on the stage. 



66 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-d-Brac 

Don't look for young heads on shoulders bowed 
With the weight of years and the daily task : 

Don't ask us to feast with the thoughtless crowd, 
When a bird and a bottle are all we ask. 

But whatever you say, or whatever you think, 
Till the young be old, and the old no more. 

Give a tender thought, as the Cup you drink. 
To the dear dead brothers who've gone before. 

So our love as the banyan tree shall grow. 

New strength from each fallen bough upsprung. 

When to-night shall be '' twenty years ago," 
And Papyrus still, as forever, young. 



67 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

GOOD-BYE TO THE ADMIRAL, HIS 
EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR- 
GENERAL OF PALAWAN. 

And so you are billed for the Filipinos 
And old Palawan shall feel your sway. 

Now tell us, who love you, just between us, 
Why your ambition runs that way ? 

Dear old Palawan ! How well we know it. 
The siren isle of the summer seas ! 

Nor Admiral, anchorite, or poet 
Can ever resist its witcheries. 

But you of the frank, entrancing laughter 
And the woman eyes, as brave as kind. 

Is it a kingdom that you are after ? 
Tell us the game that's in your mind. 



68 



the V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

You are a King at this Court already ; 

Papyrus proclaims you all our own ; 
What loftier place than to be our " steady " 

Grinnelius Rex, and our hearts your throne ? 

Should time hang heavy in fair Palawan, — 

And it's monstrous long when you want a dram,— 

Get out the materials and brew a sma' one 
With his genial Excellency of Guam. 

In matters of diet you must be wary ; 

The Army Contractor is in the land : 
See that your cold roast missionary 

Wasn't embalmed when he was canned. 



69 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

If the heathen rage, they will soon get over 
Their ire when they see the King we've sent ; 

Then every one will become your lover, 
Till you really will find embarrassment. 

Be you as Solomon wise in ruling ; 

But don't be his pupil in everything : 
A hundred wives, under proper schooling. 

Should be comfort enough for any King. 

Then women will love you and men will wonder, 
And kids in their glee will wildly yell. 

And the populace shout in a voice of thunder, 
"All hail to His Modesty, King Grinnell ! " 



70 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

WAIT TILL YOU COME TO FORTY 
YEAR. 

" Wait till you come to forty year " — 
The kindly cynic who told you so 
Knew better than you can ever know, 

Wise little man of twenty-five, 

That never until, if you still survive, 

In your decade sixth or seventh, my dear, 
Shall you talk of coming to Forty Year, 

That looks to you now so old and sere. 

Forty year is not four times ten. 

If you reckon as wise accountants do ; 
It is always a lustrum, or maybe two. 

Ahead of the age you have just attained j 

Meaning experience yet ungained. 
Meaning the treasure still unfound, 
Where the rainbow's wealth lies underground, 

Waiting the quest of unborn men. 



7» 



T:he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Richer than any Klondike find 

Is the wealth of wisdom hidden there, 
And the pearls of price and the jewels rare, 

You will dig them all, if you have the power 

To turn the dial back one hour; 

But the golden promise of Forty Year, 
It's true fruition you'll find, I fear. 

Only by looking, dim-eyed, behind. 



73 



T^he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
A POEM OF PASSION. 

Adapted to latitude 42. ii, North; longitude, 71.3 West. 

My Emerson is on the shelf, my Browning on the 

floor ; 
The abstract entity of self is lost forevermore. 

No sleep at lectures now I take ; in church I 

barely doze ; 
O'er Tolstoi's page I keep awake, or mildly 

comatose. 

There comes no salutary balm from psychical 

research ; 
Theosophy, which once could calm, has left me 

in the lurch. 

In vain I seek to drown my care in copious 

draughts of tea, 
At Afternoons and Evenings, where should dwell 

philosophy. 



73 



T:he F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

How can I win thy well-kept heart, thy perfect, 

pulseless hand ? 
Teach me to play a lover's part which thou wilt 

understand. 

For thee I'd cut my flowing locks, my club, my 

nearest friend ; 
Buddha abjure, turn Orthodox, abide in the South 

End. 

Be just like any common man. . . . But, pshaw! 

my words are wild ; 
I hold the gray Chicagoan below the Boston child. 

Some day, when even Ibsen fails to be misunder- 
stood, 

Thy heart may know what grief assails the Beauti- 
ful and Good. 



74 



INTERNATIONAL POEMS. 

The following stirring lyrics are from the pen of 
Mr. Calvin K. Branigan, who /V, undoubtedly^ the 
poet laureate of the Scotch-Irish race. Should he live., 
as he has never yet succeeded in doing., he will be the 
greatest bard of the greatest race that never existed. 
IVe understand that he contemplates soon bringing out 
his complete poe7ns in a limited edition of one ?nilUon 
copies., for sale only to subscribers and others. 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

THE GATHERING OF THE SCOTCH- 
IRISH CLANS. 

Are ye gangin' to the meetin', to the meetin' o' the 
clans. 

With your tartans and your pibrochs and your bon- 
nets and brogans ? 

There are Neeleys from New Hampshire and Mul- 
ligans from Maine, 

McCarthys from Missouri and a Tennessee Mc- 
Shane. 

Kelleys, Caseys, Dunns, and Daceys, by the dozen 

and the score. 
And Merguires and Mawhinneys, and two 

" Obrions " or more. 



77 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

There are Cochranes (born Corcoran) as polished 

as you please, 
And Kenyons who were Keenans, and Murphys, 

now Murfrees. 

And we'll sit upon the pint-stoup and we'll talk of 

auld lang syne 
As we quaff the flowing haggis to our lasses' bon- 

nie eyne. 

And we'll join in jubilation for the thing that we 

are not ; 
For we say we arn't Irish, and God knows we 

arn't Scot. 



78 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a~Brac 

LAMENT OF THE SCOTCH-IRISH 
EXILE. 

Oh, I want to win me hame 

To my ain countrie, 
The land frae whence I came 

Far away across the sea ; 
But I canna find it there, on the atlas anywhere, 
And I greet and wonder sair 

Where the deil can it be ? 

I hae never met a man 

In a' the warld wide 
Who has trod my native Ian' 

Or its distant shores espied ; 
But they tell me there's a place where my hypo- 
thetic race 
Its dim origin can trace — 

Tipperary-on-the-Clyde. 



79 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

j But anither answers : " Nae, 

Ye are varra far frae richt ; 
Glasgow Town in Dublin Bay 

Is the spot we saw the licht." 
But I dinna find the maps bearing out these pawkie 

chaps, 
And I sometimes think perhaps 

It has vanished out o' sight. 

Oh, I fain wad win me hame 

To that undiscovered Ian' 
That has neither place nor name 

Where the Scoto-Irishman 
May behold the castles fair by his fathers builded 

there 
Many, many ages ere 

Ancient history began. 



80 



YACHTING YARNS. 

Mr. Branigan took a deep interest in the several 
contests for the '•'• America' s^^ C-^Pt always chival- 
rously espousing the side of the challenger. 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



ODE TO LIEUT. HENN. 

WITH A VALUABLE 'iNT. 

Leftenant 'N, O Leftenant 'N ! 
'Ave the bloomin' Hamericans scooped us again ? 

And 'ow 

Did they manage to do it ? By 'oolc or by crook, 
Or by making some blawsted Hamerican fluke, 

Or row ? 

It cawnt be supposed as they'd know what to do 
In a yacht, 'aving honly their native canoe; 

But Y 



?3 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Don't 'Er Majesty's Government take this thing 

hup, 
And call hout the fleet to recover that Cup ? 

It's 'igh 

Time the Yankees should know it's 'Er Majesty's 

hown, 
Which to give away hanythink never was known, 

Much less 

A harticle worth sev'ral pound at the mint — 
In their hown beastly dialect, " this is an 'int, 

I guess." 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



THE LAMENT O' THE THISTLE. 

" Now, wha will sail a bonnie boat 

Across the saut sea faem, 
A race to rin, a prize to win, 

To bring the Queen's Cup hame ? 

" There's muckle siller to be had. 

And red, red gowd beside ; 
The Queen will na' forget the lad 

That saves auld England's pride." 

Then up and spake a skipper bauld, 

In Aberdeen was born : 
" It's weel I lo'e the red, red gowd, 

And siller dinna scorn ; 

" And for Her Gracious Majestie, 

And for auld Scotia's fame, 
And for a sma' retainin' fee, 

I'se bring yon goblet hame." 

But when the Queen she heard 'o this. 
The tears ran doun her face ; 

" Sae douce a lad is sure amiss 
In sic a lowly place. 



85 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

*' Gin he but bring the trophy back. 

My gillie he maun be " — 
And then she thocht o' Brown, alack ! 

Her grief was sair to see. 

But sune she dried her bonnie een. 

And pu'd her sporran oot — 
The courtiers cried, " God save the Queen ! 

She's daft ayont a doot." 

Syne she has ta'en a saxpence braid : 

" Gie this to him frae me ; 
There's twal braw happennies," she said, 

" And they shall be his gree." 

And sae, wi' treasure laden deep 

The Thistle sailed awa' : 
" Gude lack ! " the Seendicate did threap, 

" She'll whup the Yankees a' ! " 

We thocht the Yankee coofs to fule 

Wi' sklentin' measurement, 
And gied our words — but faith the rule 

And tape said different. 



86 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



We offered bets wad mak ye stare, 

Wi' odds of ane to three 
(Because they wadna' gie us mair), 

Sae confident were we. 

But oh ! the bonnie dollars past 

Till foreign ban's awa ! 
And oh ! the foreign winds sae fast 

That gar't us rin sae slaw ! 

Wae worth the day our canny plans 

Mishanter cam' atween ! 
Sair be our hearts, and toom our ban's, 

And saxpenceless our Queen ! 



87 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

TO HIS LORDSHIP WYNDHAM THOM- 
AS WYNDHAM QUIN, EARL 
OF DUNRAVEN. 

O Wyndham Thomas Wyndham Quin ! 
O Wyndham Thomas Wyndham ! 
O Wyndham Thomas Wyndham Quin ! 
O Windy, Windy, Windy ! 



88 



rhe F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
THE GREAT DRIFTING MATCH. 

BY A FOC's'LE hand. 

Come, all ye gallant sailor-men, and yachting men 

also, 
And listen to the story of what happened long ago. 
When Sir Thomas Lipton's " Shamrock " she was 

towed across the seas 
For to meet the yacht " Columbia " in any kind 
of breeze. 
But yo, heave ho ! and they crawl so slow 
That the race is anybody's as they drifting go. 

They pointed up to windward and they drifted 

down to lee. 
And they made a knot an hour when they trav- 
elled fast and free. 
Till Sir Thomas swore at last, " This don't suit 

me to a T., 
The Yankee Weather Bureau is a-playing it on 
me. 
But he couldn't understand, for a foreigner was 

he. 
That our Weather Bureau news must be read 
by contraree. 

89 



"The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

Now the hours grew into days, into weeks and 
months and years, 

And the big yachts drifted leeward into other hem- 
ispheres, — 

To the dead Sargasso Sea, where a bellows would- 
n't blow 

And they make a knot a year when they aren't 
going slow. 

But I can sing no more ; for my yarn it is 

spinned. 
And my pockets tell me sore that it's time to 

raise the wind. 
All my money is locked up, betting on that race 

of yore ; 
And the yachtsmen and the yachts we shall 

never see them more. 



90 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 
IS THIS THE HEND? 

[H. B. M. Minister Sackville West, dismissed Oct, 30, 1888.] 

Well, things 'ave come to a pretty state, 

Hi should say ! 
Hif a British Minister cawnt dictate 
To a blooming Yankee, at this 'ere date 

And time of day ! 

'Aven't we halways been on 'and. 

In hevery clime, 
Making our neighbors hunderstand 
That we run this universe, sea and land. 

By Greenwich time ? 

Wen they've been in 'ardships, once or twice, 

And 'ad it rough, 
Did they find us backward or hover-nice 
In giving 'em censure and good hadvice, 

And now and again a cuff, 



91 



TJje F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 

To let 'em know that a watchful heye 

Forever glows 
With the fire of a mission pure and 'igh 
Of poking hinto their family pie 

A Mother's nose ? 

'Aven't we freely spoke our mind 

Unto their face ? 
To Yankee failings of hany kind 
'Ave we hever been deaf, or dumb, or blind ? 

Show me a case ! 

'Ave they forgotten hall the years 

We stood their friend ? — 
The money we've spent on privateers ? 
The paupers we've sent 'em, and bankrupt peers ?— 

Is this the hend ? 



9a 



T:he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



TO UNCLE PAUL KRUGER. 

Keep your powder good and dry, Oom Paul ; 
Never close your weather eye, Oom Paul ; 
Have your rifle clean and bright ; 
Look to fore and after sight. 
They are planning day and night — 
You will need to watch them all, 
Oom Paul. 

Shoot to kill 'em when you shoot, Oom Paul ; 
They are coming for the loot, Oom Paul. 
They'll be gathering you in, 
Just as sure as sin is sin, 
For they know you have the " tin " — 
You must battle for it all, 
Oom Paul. 

Then get out your little gun, Oom Paul ; 
For you don't know how to run, Oom Paul. 
Don't discuss about the right, 
When a rattlesnake's in sight. 
And his pizen head shows fight. 
Don't you do a thing at all — 
Not a t'ing to him at all, 
Oom Paul. 

93 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



TO LADYSMITH. 

O Ladysmith, O Ladysmith ! 

Has Uncle Kruger's cowhide boot 
Jumped on the lovely British myth 

That Dutchmen don't know how to shoot ? 

When Robert Toombs said, '' Yankee boys 
In warlike sports have no discerning," 

A grim Confed., who heard their noise 

And felt their shots, said, " Wal, they're learn- 
ing." 

So Lady, gentle Ladysmith ! 

(I love your sweet, romantic name) 
Pack up your traps and start forthwith. 

For bitter war is now the game. 



94 



T:he V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



Paul Kruger has no suitor's voice ; 

And, if he loves a single flower, 
The scarlet-runner is his choice ; 

The flying redcoat decks his bower. 

So, Ladysmith, dear Ladysmith, 

Don't think that British valor's " in it," 

Those blooming Boers would knock the pith 
Out of a crowbar in a minute. 



95 



The F-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



BABYLON. 

[The excuse for including this serious poem in a book 
of light verse is that some British critics have thought that 
by "Babylon" the author meant England! The Lon- 
don Spectator y reviewing Mr. Douglas Sladen's "Younger 
American Poets," selects it as the only poem in the col- 
lection possessing "vitality," and says: "There is a 
certain rhetorical vigor about the poem which makes it 
worth notice. The author seems to have dipped his pen 
in perfumed vitriol. If, however, he can manage to main- 
tain the literary standard he here attains, no Englishman 
will, we feel sure, grudge him the right to call England 
as many names as he pleases." The- Saturday Re'vie^w 
explains the animus of the poem by saying that the author 
is an ex-political prisoner found guilty of treason felony — 
all of which has made a grave subject suddenly humorous 
and, so, eligible for this collection.] 

Her robes are of purple and scarlet, 
And the kings have bent their knees 

To the gemmed and jewelled harlot 
Who sitteth on many seas. 

They have drunk the abominations 

Of her golden cup of shame ; 
She has drugged and debauched the nations 

With the mystery of her name. 
96 



The V-A-S-E & Other Bric-a-Brac 



Her merchants have gathered riches 
By the power of her wantonness, 

And her usurers are as leeches 

On the World's supreme distress. 

She has scoured the seas as a spoiler; 

Hei mart is a robber's den, 
With the wrested toll of the toiler, 

And the mortgaged souls of men. 

Her crimson flag is flying. 

Where the East and the West are one ; 
Her drums while the day is dying 

Salute the rising sun. 

She has scourged the weak and the lowly 
And the just with an iron rod ; 

She is drunk with the blood of the holy, — 
She shall drink of the wrath of God ! 



97 



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AT 272 CONGRESS STREET 
BOSTON, FOR RICHARD 
G. BADGER & CO., PUBLISHERS 
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